


the same big and little words (all spelling out desire)

by x_vellichor



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Affectionate Tyler, M/M, National Hockey League, and vice versa honestly, both of them are clearly in love with each other And Yet Here We Are, idiots to lovers, oblivious jamie, so much mutual pining, they're messes okay, two hopeless dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-31 00:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_vellichor/pseuds/x_vellichor
Summary: Four times Tyler Seguin told Jamie Benn he loved him, and the one time Jamie (finally) understood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [color my voice (with the unspoken truth)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683822) by [betheproof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheproof/pseuds/betheproof). 



> Title is taken from the poem "Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out" by Richard Siken. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Based on this prompt list: https://thisispodreycing.tumblr.com/post/173687324875/the-way-you-said-i-love-you/embed  
> which I found through a lovely fic by betheproof that is definitely worth a read (or five)! It certainly inspired me to write something of my own, so many thanks! Here's a link to that work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683822?view_adult=true

**3\. A scream:**

Jamie dekes around one opponent, then another, and sauces a bullet pass towards Tyler, who doesn't hesitate for even a millisecond.

It's the mark of an efficient, practiced goal scorer--and it's almost unfair, really. The puck slams into the back of the net, blasted past the hapless goalkeeper, and the goal horn blares.

The crowd is going absolutely nuts; Segs is trying to say something, but Jamie can't hear him over the deafening roar. He skates closer and jumps up for their customary shoulder bump.

"Great pass, man!" Tyler yells. His grin is so wide that his face might honestly be in danger of splitting in half. It's elation, adrenaline and love for the game all rolled up in one pearly package, and Jamie wants to taste it, has always wanted to taste it. Tyler taps the back of Jamie's calves with his stick as he heads to the bench for high-fives, then turns over his shoulder, pauses, points right at Jamie, and shouts, "I fucking love you!"

And if Jamie allows himself a small smile--well, the cameras are all on Tyler, anyway.

Nobody but him needs to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before Rous was traded, and even though he's only involved in one sentence, editing this still made me sad. Feel free to come cry with me in the comments.  
> Or, alternatively, ignore my dumb sentimental ass and enjoy the chapter!

_**34\. Before we jump:** _

        "I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Jamie mutters, adjusting the buckles on his vest and double and triple checking the location of the string that's supposed to deploy his parachute.

        "I can't believe you actually _agreed_ that this would be a good team bonding exercise," Tyler replies, snorting. He looks relaxed--of course he does, the fucker--leaning casually against the wall of the plane. 

        "Yeah, me neither," Rous mutters, inserting nonchalant annoyance into his tone in a flimsy, transparent attempt to cover up his underlying nervousness. Like the good bro he is, Tyler chuckles and pretends not to notice.

        Jamie doesn't know how to tell them that he _didn't_ think it would be a good idea then, and his opinion certainly hasn't changed now that he's several thousand feet up in the air. But when Tyler had come to him near the beginning of the off-season, visibly excited for the first time since they'd known they were going to miss the playoffs, with that classic Seguin sparkle in his eyes...

        Well, Jamie had never really stood a chance. The thought of refusing had barely crossed his mind; all he'd been thinking about was keeping that goofy grin on Tyler's face.

        And look where  _that_ had gotten him.

        Jamie peers out the window again, trying not to gulp at the still-shrinking ground. His stomach churns uneasily.

        "I've always wanted to go skydiving," Tyler muses. He smiles at Jamie, and Jamie's heart flops oddly in his chest. There's no way he's making it out of here with all his internal organs intact. He doesn't mind quite as much as he should.

        Tyler surveys the rest of the team with the practiced eye of an assistant captain and immediately notes the nervous energy simmering below the carefully stoic countenances of his teammates. Jamie feels it too, but he's too busy trying to manage his own rising panic to think about a way to handle everyone else's.

        The intercom beeps, and Val jumps. "Three minutes 'til first jump," the pilot says. It only serves to heighten the tension. Tyler Pitlick audibly gulps, Spezz looks like he's praying, and Bishop, unflappable as always, is the only other guy who looks genuinely calm besides Segs. Rads and Klinger exchange anxious glances.

        Suddenly, someone is clutching Jamie's arm, and when he looks over, it's Seggy. Of course it's Seggy.

        Wide-eyed and barely holding back a grin, Tyler makes his voice deliberately, ridiculously high-pitched and vows, "I'll never let go, Jack," and Jamie chuckles in spite of himself. 

        "There's no way I'll let that happen just yet, Rose--I never got the chance to draw you like one of my French girls," Jamie teases, and he's rewarded with a few chuckles from his teammates. 

        "If we survive, I'll pose however you want," Tyler promises with a wicked, cheeky grin, prompting a few wolf-whistles from the boys. Jamie's knows he's joking--and besides, he's not much of an artist--but the idea is intriguing, and it's not like Segs has never been a nude model before.

        Of course, that memory doesn't do much to get his thought process on track, and before he knows it, he's half hard in his pants. He quietly prays that no one notices. 

        Still, even though Jamie is a bit uncomfortable, he thinks it's worth it. The mood is noticeably lighter and less tense; this is familiar territory, the chirping and joking, and despite being nine thousand feet from the ground and hundreds of miles away from the locker room, in this moment, it feels a little like home.

        Jamie supposes that was Tyler's intent all along.

       

       

        Of course, Tyler's jumping first, and he takes Jamie's arm and brings Jamie close to the edge with him. 

        "J," he says, his tone mockingly, over-dramatically serious, "if I don't make it, just know that I love you." Before Jamie can say anything, Tyler's launched himself off the side with a gleeful shout. Of course it's not serious--with Tyler, it's never serious. But for a moment, Jamie thinks about the chances that he'll actually forget to activate his chute and die; he thinks about the words he would be leaving unspoken, thinks about how Tyler would never know how he feels.  _I think I love you too, Ty._

But it's too late for that, too late to respond at all, so instead Jamie joins in with the laughter of the younger guys, a few beats too late. 

        The older guys aren't really laughing, just exchanging mysterious, unreadable glances. He doesn't want to think about what they might mean. 

        Spezza is looking at him curiously--knowingly--and all of a sudden, Jamie can't stand it. He forces a smile and asks abruptly, "Who's next?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many artistic liberties are taken with theoretical scheduling and apartment locations and the overall timeline of, well, everything. Sorry this was such a long time in coming.

_ **2\. with a hoarse voice, under the blankets:** _

 

        Now that they don't live in the same apartment building anymore, they don't see each other quite as much. Sure, there's still their mostly quotidian practices and games--barring any injuries or off-days--but it's not the same.

        It hadn't taken Jamie long to realize that he missed hearing Tyler's giggle all the time, missed his goofy smile and the feeling of security that came with the knowledge that his best friend was mere minutes away, just two flights of stairs and then the third door on the right.

        He couldn't--wouldn't--ask Tyler to move back, so instead he'd made concerted efforts to call him up and meet out for dinner at least once a week, all hockey talk strictly forbidden.

        It had usually ended up being Thursday night--it was just how their schedules worked out--and pretty soon it had become routine unless they had a game; it's quickly become a shared tradition, and one of the best parts of Jamie's week.

        It's his time to chill out, to be open with Ty in a way that isn't ever appropriate on-ice or even in the locker room; he can shed his inhibitions as best he knows how and allow the weight of captaincy to slide off his shoulders, if only for a few hours.

        So it's really only natural for him to feel sharp, intense disappointment when Segs calls and says he isn't up for going out tonight. He listens to the odd, unnatural rasp to Tyler's voice, the way he pauses and leans away from the phone to let out a deep, hacking cough, and hears what Tyler doesn't say: he's sick, and absolutely miserable. 

        Jamie assures him that it's alright while he packs a few things into a drawstring bag with the Stars logo on it, then hangs up and drives the familiar route to Tyler's house.

        He finds the spare Tyler gave him on his key ring and lets himself in. He can hear Tyler wheezing from here, and follows the sound; he's curled up on the couch with three blankets and two of his dogs, Marshall and Cash, with a plethora of used tissues and cough-drop wrappers littering the floor around him.

        Tyler looks tired; he has large black bags underneath both eyes, and his skin is flushed even though he's shivering--the definitive mark of a fever. His hair, normally combed and gelled to perfection, is mussed and greasy, like he hasn't showered since this morning's practice. That, more than anything, lets Jamie know how awful he must be feeling.

        He'd noticed Tyler was a bit off in practice this morning, but hadn't had a chance to check up on him. Now he knows why.

        "Jamie," Tyler croaks, confused, and Jamie shushes him. He brings a can of soup out of his bag as an explanation.

        "Chicken noodle," he says, because he knows just what Tyler is going to ask before he does it--and the less Tyler uses his voice, the better--and he's rewarded with a wan but sincere smile. It's not the typical toothy Seguin smile he knows and loves, but he'll take it. "I'll be back in about ten minutes. Is there anything else you need?" Tyler shakes his head, and Jamie thinks about kissing his temple, remembers himself and freezes, turning quickly on his heel and hurrying to the kitchen.

 

 

        He returns--ten minutes later, as promised--with the soup, a spoon, and a glass of water. "I know you said you didn't need anything else, but fluids are important," Jamie says, a bit sheepishly. Tyler nods his thanks, sips a spoonful of steaming soup, and looks up, surprised. 

        "This is real...you're real," he murmurs, wide-eyed and full of wonder. "I thought you were a fever dream." Something in Jamie's chest flares; he's afraid it shows on his face, so he busies himself by straightening the pillows on the smaller sofa to the left of the couch.

        "Nope, I'm really here," he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. When the pillows are properly arranged and he still needs to do something with his hands, he kneels on the floor and starts to pick up the scattered trash, ignoring his protesting joints.

        He looks up at Tyler's noise of alarm. "J, you really don't have to do that," Tyler manages, and Jamie just smiles.

        "I know."  _But I will, for you._ "I'll tell Coach you won't be a practice tomorrow, so don't worry about it." Jamie calls, dropping the trash in the nearest garbage can. He steadfastly ignores Tyler's look of mutinous protest, fixing Tyler with his best no-nonsense stare, honed to perfection over five seasons of leadership in a rough, unforgiving sport. "Ty, you need to rest. Seriously. Captain's orders."

        Tyler makes a sound in the back of his throat, and Jamie assumes it's one of assent. "Okay, Seggy. I'm gonna go now, but I'll check on you tomorrow, alright?" He's suddenly aware that his voice is altogether too soft and tender, that all his feelings are probably showing plain as day on his face. Suddenly self-conscious, he moves for the door.

        "Wait!" Tyler rasps, voice hoarse and scratchy. Jamie can tell it takes considerable effort, so he pauses. "Thanks for everything, J. Love you." 

        "Right back atcha, Segs." he says affectionately, smoothing Tyler's hair back from his forehead. He falls asleep in just a few moments, snoring softly before Jamie even shuts the door behind himself.

        He'd imagined going down on his knees for Tyler, but never quite like that.

        He's so fucking whipped.


End file.
